


Particles

by LoversAntiquities



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe - Office, Capsule Hotels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:00:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4814168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From what he could remember, between the endless string of pre-flight meetings and messages to everyone in his department about just where he would be going and his itinerary, including emergency contact numbers in case he ended up lost at sea, it had been been a hard week. Month, actually, but he hadn’t let anyone else in on that other than his secretary, who sympathized with him immensely. His boss, not so much. Nearly a month after his passing, and Dean Smith was gearing up to leave Ohio for Beijing on a two week business trip, his secretary at his side and two suitcases and a carry-on between them both.</p><p>What a life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Particles

From what he could remember, between the endless string of pre-flight meetings and messages to everyone in his department about just where he would be going and his itinerary, including emergency contact numbers in case he ended up lost at sea, it had been been a hard week. Month, actually, but he hadn’t let anyone else in on that other than his secretary, who sympathized with him immensely. His boss, not so much. Nearly a month after his passing, and Dean Smith was gearing up to leave Ohio for Beijing on a two week business trip, his secretary at his side and two suitcases and a carry-on between them both.

What a life.

Chicago had been nearly twelve hours ago, the bright morning sun previously streaming through the plane windows now replaced with the occasional moonlit cloud as they headed for their second layover of the trip, set to touch down in Tokyo within the next hour, maybe more. Sleeping had been one of his better ideas of the trip, nodding off as soon as they leveled out and the sleeping pills kicked in, leaving him passed out with a blanket over his front with his secretary at his side, Castiel Evans’ previously awake and alert form now slumped onto his side, forehead pressed to his shoulder, hair matted to his forehead. In his lap, his paperback sat, a finger still marking the page where he left off some hours before, oblivious to the turbulence every few miles or the cold air pumping in from overhead, every light in the cabin extinguished.

Another seven hours, and they would be left to wander through Beijing in search of their hotel and a place to pass out for the foreseeable future, until they were to meet with overseas corporate for a meeting that rested its sole weight on his shoulders. Halfheartedly, he wished the plane would crash and leave him stranded for the sharks, just to escape the pressure, the anxiety that left him sleepless most nights, left him wanting to jump off the roof of Sandover onto the streets below, leaving no more than a smudge of red on the concrete. Castiel wouldn't blame him either, probably. A merger was one thing, but a buyout? They could have at least sent someone else, someone with more qualifications. Someone that didn't sweat at the mere thought of stepping aboard a metal tube for three flights over a twenty-two hour period.

Someone other than _him_.

Behind him, he could vaguely hear a stewardess wandering up and down the aisles, probably trying to rouse those who had fallen comatose in the last few hours, Dean having been one of them until a particular rough patch left him grabbing an armrest and Castiel’s thigh. So much for over-the-counter airport medication. “Castiel,” Dean mumbled close to his ear, bumping their shoulders together when the lights began to kick back on, still dimmed. “Cas, c’mon. You’re leavin’ me hangin’ here.”

Castiel mumbled something unintelligible before settling himself in his seat, snuffling against Dean’s shoulder. It would have been adorable if it weren’t so terrifying, his nerves still flaring even after having slept for most of the flight, the knowledge that he wasn't in his own bed and instead lodged in a screaming metal death trap seeping into his bones. “You’re loud,” Castiel grumbled, voice rough with sleep, yet still barely audible above the hum of the engines and the stewardess wheeling her cart past. “Where are we?”

Dean glanced to the headrest at his front, the small airplane on the screen a few dozen miles off the coast of Honshu. “Almost there,” he answered, briefly letting his head rest against Castiel’s. “Figure they’ll start descent soon.”

Castiel let out a noise that sounded vaguely reminiscent of a sigh, shuffling himself upright and effectively shoving Dean off of him, Dean rolling his eyes when Castiel stretched himself as far as he could in their business class seats, head between his knees and arms behind his back by the time he finished. Dean swore, he really needed to invest in those yoga classes he lauded so much; maybe it could get rid of the crick in his neck and the ever-present ache in his lower back.

Unwilling to mirror Castiel’s position, he stretched his arms above his head enough to lay his hands flat on the overhead compartment, yawning all the while. In the distance, he could faintly make out the pilot saying something about beginning their descent and their arrival time, along with the current weather. Rain had been forecasted the last he checked before they left Cincinnati that morning, but nothing like the pilot was saying, something about torrential downpours in the coming hours that could possibly delay or cancel flights indefinitely. “You think they’re talking about us?” Dean asked, turning to see Castiel upright again, rolling his shoulders underneath the dress shirt he wore, tie loose and askew down his front, previously abandoned jacket now slung haphazardly back on.

Castiel just shrugged. “If they are, at least we’ll be in Tokyo,” he bit through a yawn, tired eyes half lidded. “I’ve always wanted to see the city, anyway.”

He nodded with hesitance and sat back, Castiel returning to his novel while the plane began its rocking descent to the earth below, Dean watching through the window as the sky changed from black to pale through the cloud layer, the faint lights of the runway and surrounding buildings illuminating the sparse nothing that surrounded Narita International Airport, fields obscured by the night rain. Touchdown was just as rough as the first landing in Chicago, Dean gripping both seat rests while Castiel held onto his wrist, the warmth of it enough of a comfort to keep his heart rate at a decent level while they taxied to their terminal, the wind and rain nothing but a memory.

Until they stepped off the plane and headed for their departure gate, at least. Castiel kept close with his carry-on at his side, loafers clicking against the tile floors as they treaded to the departures board across the hall, NRT to BJS listed in bright white letters, displaying ‘ON TIME’ beside it. “Same gate,” Dean stated, heaving a sigh; at least they didn't have to change terminals.

Castiel patted his wrist and tugged his sleeve, enough to get him to look away from the boards. “We still have two hours,” he said, jerking his head to the rest of the terminal, the smell of food immediately catching Dean’s attention. When was the last time they ate, anyway? “I’m sure you’re starving.”

“You know me too well,” Dean smirked, nudging their shoulders together. “Lead the way. You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”

He followed Castiel down stalls with his eyes reading unintelligible script along the walls, Dean within arms reach at all times. “A few years ago, when Zachariah needed an assistant,” he added, a crack of thunder almost overshadowing his words. Outside, rain battered the windows, now a steady downpour. “I wandered while he complained to someone on the phone for three hours. There’s this place called Williams—.”

They found it on the fifth floor after checking in, a small stall off in a corner with few people around, the cashiers looking dead on their feet. Castiel ordered for them while Dean stood at his back, the words effortlessly flowing off his tongue, a skill he could never wrap his head around. The thought never occurred to him to ask Castiel how many languages he knew, or what he had done before settling down at Sandover anyway. Something in New York probably, with other elites with too much to do and too little time to do it. One day, he would ask—preferably when he wasn't forcing himself not to inhale his food, something Castiel said was called tonkatsu but tasted like fried pork.

Whatever it was, he could probably live off it. “You’re trying to fatten me up, aren’t you?” he mumbled behind his napkin, Castiel smirking around his spoon, curry half eaten on his plate.

“You should indulge more,” Castiel answered, simple as ever, gathering rice onto his spoon. “When was the last time you ate anything other than power salads? I don’t think I’ve seen you outside of the office more than twice.”

“Hey, you came over _last_ weekend.” The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, hand shaking just enough to catch Castiel’s attention.

Castiel covered it with his own, Dean glancing to the floor to his right. “I appreciate that you told me,” Castiel murmured, Dean nodding along. Of course Castiel cared—Castiel always had, had shown it from day one when he showed up in a trench coat outside his office with snow in his hair, tie slung over his shoulder in the wind. It had been four years since then, filled with endless meetings and too-long nights and year-end parties, and yet, they hadn’t spent a day outside of the office together until Castiel found him under his desk with his head in his hands, his secretary making it his personal mission that he were there if anything else happened, if Dean needed a shoulder to lean on.

Shotgunning in the back alley during their lunch break certainly didn't hurt, either. Anything to take the edge off, the perpetual weight holding him down, keeping him from sleeping more than a few hours a night with his skin constantly crawling, unshed tears burning behind tired eyes, waiting for the moment he relaxed enough to break.

“Kinda helps that you’re here,” Dean shrugged, noncommittal. Castiel smiled, letting his hand linger before pulling back, the two finishing their meals in silence, the sound of clicking shoes and restaurants shutting off their lights their only company.

Only two others were waiting at their gate when they returned, the departure board displaying the delay of multiple flights, ‘cancelled’ beginning to overtake them all. Dean watched, transfixed while Castiel rummaged through his bag for his phone, presumably checking for Wi-Fi, oblivious to the rain or their future travel plans. “What if we get cancelled?” Dean asked him, turning to Castiel, who was still futilely attempting to connect his phone to any form of service. “You think we’ll get hotel vouchers?”

“Probably.” Sighing, Castiel set down his phone and looked to the board, narrowing his eyes over the rim of his glasses. “What flight were we again?”

Dean looked to the roof before rummaging through his pocket, pulling out multiple boarding passes and a receipt he forgot was there. “Flight… 275. Why, is that one—.”

It was—labeled beside Delta Flight 275 were the capitalized red letters ‘CANCELLED’, quickly flashing to unreadable kanji and back again, all while his heart sank in his chest. _Great_ —they were stuck in an airport in a strange city with only Castiel’s carry-on to get them through the evening, or however long they were stuck there. From the way the rain was falling outside, it would probably be a while. “Adler sent us off into monsoon season, didn’t he?” Dean hissed, his heart not in it.

Beside him, Castiel pulled his carry-on on over his shoulder and stood, looking too calm about the turn of events. “We need to reschedule,” he said through a sudden yawn, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “Are you coming?”

Dean nodded despite the sluggishness in his legs, following Castiel through the terminal and down escalators until they reached the ticket counter, Castiel lapsing into Japanese again almost as easy as breathing, leaving Dean in a whirlwind, even when the desperation in his tone shown clear, voice caught between a sigh and a plea. At least the attendant seemed sympathetic, trying every trick she knew to get them on the earliest flight. Eventually, he handed his passport and useless boarding pass over to Castiel, who handed it and his own over, the woman swiping the barcodes through her scanner.

“They have a flight leaving in two days,” Castiel sighed, removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. Dean deflated, propping himself up on the counter to keep himself from dropping to his knees. “There’s a typhoon moving through. The entire airport’s on a ground stop.”

“That’s—I don’t know what to say to that.” Dean hung his head with closed eyes, running a hand through his hair. “She say anything about where we can stay?”

Castiel asked when she handed over their passports and new boarding passes, Dean waiting while the attendant pointed further down the terminal, making exaggerated hand gestures. “There’s 9hours, it’s a capsule hotel in Terminal 2. They may have room,” Castiel spoke, voice hurried. “But the last bus leaves in ten minutes. Hurry.”

He couldn't argue with that. Dean gave a quick bow before running after Castiel, already a ways away from him, making a mad dash in the direction of the bus terminal on the other end, already packed with people attempting to make their way onto the cramped bus, many clinging to the hand rails along the roof and other poles. The doors closed not long after they stepped on, Dean hanging onto the roof handle while Castiel gripped the pole at his back, his other hand taking his own, a lifeline amongst the travelers and lost souls with them. Rain poured in torrents outside the windows, the wipers working at their maximum to keep any sort of sight amongst the rain soaked tarmac, beyond the streaked lights and lightning tearing across the sky.

They funneled off the bus into Terminal 2 without injury, Castiel still leading him along with their hands linked, uncaring of the eyes watching them. Inwardly, he reveled in the touch, in the warmth such a small gesture provided, heart racing erratically from adrenaline and otherwise. He would have laughed given different circumstances, would have told Castiel how he felt if they weren’t running through another country trying to find a place to lay their head.

Which almost wasn't anywhere. “We only have one unit available,” the receptionist told them in English once inside the lobby for 9hours, Dean’s legs nearly giving out. At least they had a _room_. “Other flights were cancelled as well, all of the other hotels in the area have also sold out.”

“We can share,” Dean piped up before the obvious protest could leave Castiel’s lips, patting Castiel’s shoulder. “It can fit two, can’t it?”

The receptionist considered for a moment, Dean clinging to the last of his sanity while Castiel stared a hole through his skull. _Please, please, please_. “I’m sure that can be arranged,” she answered, Dean actually letting out a laugh. “You’ll have to pay for each of you, though.”

Castiel nodded without a word and handed over his credit card, asking her to charge for two nights instead of one. “This better go on the expense report,” Dean chuckled, Castiel cracking a mild grin.

“I’m sure they’ll take care of it,” Castiel said in reply.

Castiel took the two keys the receptionist offered in hand and one of the two clothing sets laid out on the counter, Dean taking the other without question. “You’re to wear these when you’re inside 9hours and to leave your belongings in the lockers to your left.” She motioned to the door marked with the sticker of a man, a small smile on her lips. “We have showers and lounge rooms available for whenever you need. You’ll be sleeping in unit 108.” A bow. “Please enjoy your stay.”

They told her thank you before Castiel turned to the door, Dean at his heels when they stepped through, the capsule hall already dark save for the light streaming through the closed partitions over the unit doors and the glowing numbers below their feet. “Fancy,” Dean whistled, low, Castiel casting him a mirthful smile. “Where do we—?”

“Lockers are this way,” Castiel answered him, motioning towards a sign off to the right before leading Dean around a corner, into an empty locker room. Castiel stowed his bag first, taking from it his phone and two charges, setting them all on the middle bench before shrugging off his jacket.

Right, they were _changing_. Not staring into space like he was dead on his feet. Without words they changed into the slate gray clothing set they had been given, Dean pulling on the robe with an exaggerated twirl, Castiel just shaking his head. “You think we should shower now?” he asked, quiet, watching Castiel put away their clothing and close the door to their locker, locking it behind them.

“It would probably be in our best interests,” Castiel shrugged, picking up their electronics and stuffing them into his pockets. “I still smell like that man in Chicago.”

Dean barely held his laugh back in time, the memory all too vivid, Castiel’s seat partner having fallen asleep on him halfway through an hour-long flight. “God knows what we picked up on the way here, too,” he added, Castiel nodding with a shudder.

Though not the most remarkable, showering after a seventeen-hour day did his body more good than was probably allowed. Castiel agreed as well, based on the whistling he heard through the stall door, the walls on all sides reaching up to the ceiling, creating a small semblance of privacy amongst the thousands of people stuck in the airport. But at least he was there— _they_ were there, in their own little bubble away from planes and smelly passengers and that one baby that kept staring at him every time he woke up. Here, they were alone, or as alone as they could have been.

He nearly fell to the shower floor in recognition. _Alone_. Castiel knocked after a long moment, Dean gathering his faculties and shutting off the warm spray, wiping the water from his eyes. Right—they have a room, a space to lie down and sleep, despite the fact they both would be sharing said area. They would fit—hopefully.

They left the showers after Dean dried off and redressed himself, fighting the sudden heaviness in his heart along the way, the exhaustion that continued to consume him with every step. Back into the darkness of the capsule hall, he watched Castiel kneel down atop the number 108, unlocking the small door and crawling inside, leaving just enough room for Dean to slip in if they lay on their sides. “Bend your knees,” Castiel told him when he slipped inside, Dean shutting the door and closing the partition window behind him.

They were alone— _actually_ alone, for the first time since he could remember, cramped together in a six-by-three tube fifty miles outside of Tokyo. Above his head, Castiel fiddled with the air conditioning controls and dimmed the light to near darkness, Dean working to shrug off his robe without jostling either of them too much, leaving himself in lightweight pants and a T-shirt, skin still warm from the shower and the humidity lingering with their shared breaths, bodies formed into parenthesis with barely any room to themselves.

He didn't mind, for once; it was the most physical contact he had had in months, aside from familial hugs at the funeral or Castiel’s lingering touches, the remnants always warming him for hours after, the meaning behind it unspoken. “I’m tired,” Dean muttered after a long few minutes, the silence grating in his ears. “I’m just so tired.”

He closed his eyes to the feeling of Castiel’s hand on his cheek, thumb stroking over his eye and collecting the first trace of moisture there, wiping it away. “Why haven’t you said anything?” he asked, Dean letting out a long breath in reply. “You could’ve taken time off.”

“Couldn't,” Dean answered, fighting the tremor in his voice. “We’ve been working on this buyout for a year, I couldn’t… I didn't have a choice. I couldn't exactly leave everyone in the department on their ass.”

“They would’ve understood, though.” Dean opened his eyes to catch sight of Castiel’s, blue eyes bright in the near-black darkness. “Your father died. You deserve a few days off, after that.”

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” Unbidden, he curled in closer when Castiel brought an arm around his waist, Dean tucking his head under his chin. “Haven’t even talked to Ellen since we got back from South Dakota. I can’t—Bobby was the world to me, y’know? And he just… Everything reminds me of him. And if I let myself think about it…”

“You haven’t been able to mourn,” Castiel whispered. Dean nodded, barely enough to be noticeable. “And you still can’t now, even though we’re here.”

“Not until this projects over, at least,” he attempted to laugh, coming out in a half sob. “…Is it too late to say I wanna go home?”

“Unfortunately,” Castiel said, humor in his words. Dean clung to them in the dark, breathing in Castiel’s scent to ground himself, wringing his hands in the light bedding between them before curling one into Castiel’s shirt, eventually bringing it around his back. Castiel smiled into his hair, letting out a breath. “We’ll be in Beijing for a week,” he continued, solemn. “After we get back, I want us to take a week off.”

“Us?” Dean pulled back enough to look him in the eye, ignoring the thunder overhead, the air conditioning flickering off and back on. “You mean—.”

“You need to see your family and relax,” Castiel told him, squeezing his hip. “And I’ve been meaning to ask you out since the Christmas party.”

Dean snorted, failing to hide his smile. “The one where you got wasted at?” he chuckled, Castiel joined in, just as soft. “Coulda done that any time, I’d’ve said yes.”

“I’m asking now, then, now that I know you’re not averse to staying with me in the same bed.” Castiel cupped his cheek again, Dean falling into his palm and murmuring something close to an ‘okay.’ “I’d like to meet your family again. And we can go see your father, too. If you want to say goodbye.”

A nod, followed by a quiet whimper. “Come with me,” Dean said, a plea more than anything. Castiel answered him with a kiss to his forehead, smiling against him. “Don’t wanna do this alone, anymore.”

“I’ll be with you.” Castiel pulled him closer, Dean tangling their legs together as he reached up to shut off the light completely, bathing them in total darkness. “Try to sleep? I know you haven’t been.”

“Spyin’ on me,” Dean huffed, still failing to hide his grin. Castiel pet his hair in reply, carding through the undried strands. “You too,” he mumbled. “Look like you haven’t slept since you started workin’ with me.”

“No more than you have.” He felt Castiel fall lax after that, a soft weight at his side. “Goodnight, Dean.”

A smile, and a sigh. “G’night, Cas.”

**Author's Note:**

> Remember that thing where I said I wouldn't write anything until DCBB time? I lied. I needed something to do today to calm me down from having to do constant assignments, so today I spent a good... six hours on this. I haven't been to Narita International Airport in years, but I started looking up capsule hotels today and got to reminiscing, and this prompt was born. Oh, the things I do when I should be reading other things.
> 
> Also, [9hours](https://ninehours.co.jp/en/narita/) is a REALLY NEAT PLACE that I really wanna go to. Just not under these circumstances. 
> 
> Three weeks and counting!
> 
> Title is from The Whiskey Gentry song. 
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/loversantiquity).


End file.
